Tell me that thou yet art true,
And a' my wrongs shall be forgiven;
And when this heart proves false to thee,
Yon sun shall cease his course in heaven.
But to think I was betray'd,
That falsehood e'er our loves should sunder!
To take the flow'ret to my breast,
And find the guilefu' serpent under!
Could I hope thou'dst ne'er deceive me,
Celestial pleasures, might I choose 'em,
I'd slight, nor seek in other spheres
That heaven I'd find withiu thy bosom.
O lay thy loof in mine.
[Burns.—Tune, "Cordwainer's March."]
O lay thy loof in mine, lassie;
In mine, lass, in mine, lass;
And swear on thy white hand, lass,
That thou wilt be mine ain.
A slave to love's unbounded sway,
He aft has wrought me meikle wae;
But now he is my deadly fae,
Unless thou be my ain.
There's mony a lass has broke my rest,
That for a blink I ha'e lo'ed best;
But thou art queen within my breast,
For ever to remain.
O lay thy loof in mine, lass,
In mine, lass, in mine, lass,
And swear on thy white hand, lass,
That thou wilt be my ain.
O that I had ne’er married.
[The first verse and chorus of this is a fragment of an old song to the tune of "Crowdie." The second verse was added by Burns.]
O that I had ne'er been married!
I wad never had nae care;
Now I've gotten wife and bairns,
And they cry Crowdie evermair.
Ance crowdie, twice crowdie,
Three times crowdie in a day:
Gin ye crowdie ony mair,
'Ye'll crowdie a' my meal away.
Waefu' want and hunger fley me,
Glowrin' by the hallan en':
Sair I fecht them at the door;
But aye I'm eerie they come ben.
Ance crowdie, &c.
My Wife she dang me.
[The air called "O aye my wife she dang me" is old, and there are old words to it, but of a very coarse character. Burns manufactured the following verses from the old song, retaining spirit and subduing its coarseness.]
O, ay my wife she dang me,
And aft my wife she banged me!
If ye gi'e a woman a' her will,
Gude faith, she'll soon owergang ye.
On peace and rest my mind was bent,
And, fool I was, I married;
But never honest man's intent
As cursedly miscarried!
O, ay my wife, &c.
Some sair o' comfort still at last,
When a' thir days are dune, man—
My pains o' hell on earth are past,
I'm sure o' heaven aboon, man.
O, ay my wife, &c.
In yon Garden.
[Given in Johnson's Museum, (vol. VI. 1803,) from the singing of the publisher's father, Charles Johnson, who said it was an old song in his young days.]
In yon garden fine and gay,
Picking lilies a' the day,
Gathering flowers o' ilka hue,
I wistna then what love could do.
